


A Most Unpleasant Task

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strider is sent to find a Hobbit of the Shire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Most Unpleasant Task

**Author's Note:**

> The non-con warning is for a non-explicit scene in which someone describes a non-con situation (no rape).

The lawman looked as if he wanted to be anywhere rather than speaking to this Ranger out of the wild. Yet here they were, sitting across from each other at a table in Butterbur’s inn.

“What sort of task of great import might this be?” Strider asked in a low voice.  He watched the lawman fumble for a thick folded paper inside his belt.

“You Rangers.” The lawman’s eyes shifted. “I know you know your way around the Shire and can pass through it nearly unseen.”

“What’s your business with the Shire?” Strider asked sharply.

“This is our business with the Shire.”  The lawman pushed the now unfolded paper across the table at Strider.  Strider looked down at the paper, his expression grim as he surveyed the sketch of a hobbit.  The hobbit was fair, perhaps unnaturally so with huge eyes and a dimple in his cheek and unruly curls.  “This halfling robbed Butterbur here blind and then fled back to the Shire. Apparently it’s not the first time.”

“He doesn’t look much a thief,” Strider said with a chuckle.  In fact, the hobbit had a sweet pertness to his expression.

“Halfling thieves are the worst,” the lawman said.  “They disarm you by being small and seemingly innocent, but they are quiet and sly. I want this one made an example of.” There was something in the lawman’s voice that made Strider suspect that perhaps the hobbit had done something personally to him.

“What do you want me to do?” Strider asked. “My people protect the Shire.  We do not barge into their villages and make arrests. That will be up to the Shirefolk themselves.”

“I don’t care what’s normally done. I want this one brought here,” the lawman said. “I don’t want no Shire judge to hear him. They don’t do nothing.”

Strider shook his head. “I will not do this.”

“If you do not, there are others who would.”

“Then it would be the duty of myself and others who protect the borders of the Shire to prevent that.”

The lawman flushed. “Why do you want to protect this little rat? He stayed in the inn, ate the food, drank the ale, and then slipped away without paying a single coin.”

“Hmm…” Strider shook his head. “That is a heinous crime indeed. I wonder…with all the ruffians who rob and hurt innocent folk on the road, are you not just honing in on this halfling because it’s easier?”

The lawman shook his head and folded up the sketch.  “All right. It’s apparent to me that you don’t want to do it.”

“I’ll do it,” Strider said.  “Where do you wish him brought?”

“He’s to be brought to the jail, of course.”

“Do the hobbits up in Staddle not have a place for him?”

“I don’t want no hobbits dealing with him. This little imp committed a crime against a man and has done so before, so he’s going to face the laws of men, not the foolishness that hobbits allow for each other.”

“What you do in Bree is your business,” Strider said. “But it is the business of my people to protect the Shirefolk against Outsiders, so if any undue harm comes to him, you will be answerable to me.“

“He’ll rot in prison for a few years, that is all, which is better than he deserves. He’ll not be treated any worse than any other prisoner. We don’t beat ‘em or anything.”

“You cannot place a hobbit in jail with men.”

“Oh, he’d have his own cell, which to tell the truth, will be more painful for him. Halflings aren’t happy unless they can talk your ear off, and halfling chatter is about the most annoying thing you’ll ever endure. Oh, and a word of advice. Don’t be caught in by his charms,” the lawman warned.  “Apparently he’s very good at wrapping around the hearts of innocent folk. If he don’t come willingly, you best tie him up or something.”

Strider paused. He had not considered what he would do if the hobbit did not come willingly. And why should he?  He had never had to use force against one so defenseless.  And there was something in hobbits that represented all that was still good and innocent about Middle earth, that he could not bear to see one of them hurt or downtrodden or broken of spirit.

“I will do this,” Strider said. “But only under the condition that I oversee every step of his judgment and imprisonment. I want you to know that whatever is done to him, I shall be around to oversee it. If you throw him in prison, I shall be there to check on him.”

“Do as what pleases you, but get that halfling to me.”

***

Strider had the skills to travel nearly unseen, but it became increasingly difficult as he actually foraged beyond the borders of the Shire into places where hobbits lived. Hobbiton was far into the heart of the Shire, which was a pity.  He had found out through various sources where this particular hobbit lived and once in Hobbiton, it was not at all difficult to find him.

Strider hid behind a hedge, where he had a nearly perfect view of the hobbit in question.  Frodo and a friend were sitting on a bench, smoking pipeweed.

“You look right exhausted, Mr. Frodo,” the other hobbit said.  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, yes. Bilbo’s fever spiked last night and I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Sam, thank you so much for your help last night.”

Sam shook his head.  “I’m just glad he’s better.”

Strider preferred to approach Frodo when the other hobbit left, so he settled in for a long evening.  Frodo seemed a rather well-to-do hobbit, so it did not make sense that he should have willfully robbed Butterbur. But then sometimes folk did things for no reason at all. Or for the challenge. Strider did not like the lawman at all, but perhaps he had a point that the hobbit was not to be trusted.

After what felt like hours, Sam left, letting the gate fall closed with a gentle click.  Frodo sat on the bench, staring up at the stars, and Strider was struck by just how unworldly he looked, as one of the elves. He was fair indeed, with a serene half smile on his lips.  Strider paused, for this moment, unwilling to disturb this peace. Just his very presence would frighten the hobbit near to death, he had to take quick action as not to frighten anyone else in the village.

At last he knew he had to act or risk the hobbit walking back into his home, where things would get even more complicated.

He stepped out of the shadows. As predicted, the hobbit’s expression turned to terror as he jumped to his feet, stumbling backwards and falling, breathing quickly. “Who…who are you?”

“Hush,” Strider said, kneeling beside the fallen hobbit and pulling him back to his feet. “You must come with me. Quick now, with no noise.”

Frodo’s eyes were bright with fear. “Who are you?” he repeated.

“Hush, I mean you not harm. I do not wish to frighten anyone else in your village.  Just walk with me now.”

Frodo slowly climbed to his feet. He seemed to relax a bit as he willingly walked beside Strider. Frodo had either trusted Strider immediately, which made Strider’s heart ache, or he feared for his neighbors.

As soon as they were out of the village, Frodo halted and faced Strider. “Now who are you?” he demanded. “What do you want? I must not be gone too long. My cousin is old and he is sick. He needs my care.”

Strider gripped Frodo’s upper arm. “Is it true you stayed in The Prancing Pony not less than two weeks ago?”

Frodo let in a small gasp, and then he began to struggle in earnest.  Strider barely held him as he thrust himself from side to side, kicking and squirming to get free.  “Let me go!”  Strider, fearing that Frodo would hurt himself in his panicked struggles, dropped to his knees and crushed Frodo’s arms to his sides, just tightly enough to restrain him.  “Shhh…shhh, I’m not going to hurt you. I just wish to speak to you.”

But Strider’s words seemed to agitate the hobbit even more, and he struggled against Strider’s unyielding arms with such force that Strider was certain that both of them would be black and blue with bruises in the morning.  “Stop struggling,” Strider demanded.  “Stop it. You’ll injure yourself.”

At last the hobbit went limp in his arms. He gasped in and out, struggling to even out his breaths.  “You’ve come for me,” he whispered, his eyes closed. “And now you’ll assault me in my own country, far from help. Men are…despicable. Still, there is naught I can do, is there. Just don’t hurt any other hobbits.”  
   
“I do not intend to assault you,” Strider said, his heart sinking.  A flicker of fear curled around his heart that Frodo had experienced something dark and horrible that had caused him to flee. “But I have been asked to bring you back to Bree for judgment.”

“No!” Frodo’s cry was full of desperate pain, and he began his struggles in earnest.  Strider covered his mouth, but the hobbit bit his hand. Strider nearly let him go, but managed to recapture the fabric of his shirt and pull him back.

Holding Frodo’s wrist with one hand, he got out a string of rope from his side.  He bound Frodo’s hands behind him. Frodo let out a desperate cry before falling to his knees.  Strider heaved Frodo over his shoulder, clasping him firmly.

“I cannot have you injure yourself in my care.”  
   
Strider walked for a short while until he got to a densely wooded area.  The hobbit gasped for breath, but he remained silent.  At last Strider eased Frodo down so that the hobbit was sitting under a tree, hands still bound behind him.  Strider was dismayed to see the pale shock on Frodo’s face. He no longer had a fighting light in his eyes – just dark despair.

“Frodo,” Strider said, grasping Frodo’s shoulders gently.  Frodo trembled under his touch. “If I untie you, will you promise me you will not struggle?”

Frodo continued to look away, but he nodded.

Strider untied the hobbit’s wrists, feeling how delicate his wrist bones were under his own rough hands.  

“All right then, let us talk, you and I.”

“Why…” Frodo managed, clutching his arms together, trembling. The night was chilly. Strider removed his own cloak and draped it over Frodo’s shoulders.

“You do not know why you would be brought back to Bree?”

Frodo closed his eyes, still trembling. “Please, Strider. Do not take me back there. I know I left without paying the innkeeper and--” His expression changed suddenly back to fury. “For that I am not sorry. What I endured under his hospitality should have more than paid the account.”

Strider’s heart sank. He should have known that there was more to this tale than met the eye. Most hobbits did not break the law. But then again…perhaps the lawman was right that Frodo should not be trusted. Should he automatically take the word of this hobbit?

Strider nodded.  “Tell me what happened.” He was skilled at detecting falsehoods.

Frodo clutched himself, shivering still, despite being wrapped in the heavy cloak.  “I went to Bree in hopes of finding…” He swallowed and for a second he looked so ashamed that Strider’s heart squeezed for him.  “adventure and to meet new folk. I’d never seen one of the Big People before.  The gatekeeper recommended the Prancing Pony.  Butterbur was very welcoming, rather patronizing, which I came to know is quite usual in how your kind treat hobbits.” Frodo glared at Strider. “He set me up in my room and invited me down to the common room, where he said there were plenty of hobbits from Bree who would love to meet a Shire hobbit.

“I followed his advice.  I ordered some ale, but there were not many hobbits at all, and those that were there were not very friendly.  After awhile, the only people down in the common room were a table full of men playing cards. I was preparing to go back to my room, when one of the men asked if I wanted to play cards with him and his friends.  I felt a little shy, and I felt small and silly, like they were laughing at me somehow. But I was lonely for company, and so I agreed.”

Strider was quiet.  His heart beat in ominous anticipation of what the hobbit would say. If Frodo was speaking the truth, he expected the worst. There were some foul men who hung out at the Prancing Pony, and Strider had no doubt that they would have enjoyed bullying a naïve hobbit out of the Shire.

Frodo continued in a shaking voice. “So one of them had me sit on his lap because none of the chairs allowed me to see over the table properly.  He laughed at me and prodded me, asking me questions about the Shire. But then they became foul-mouthed.” Frodo closed his eyes. “They asked whether hobbit lasses were as willing as they had heard, and that they had heard that hobbit lasses sold their virtue to anyone who would have them.  Then the one holding me asked if that was true of hobbit lads as well and that he thought…” Frodo sighed and met Strider’s eyes with shame. “He thought that I was comely and that didn’t I know that every man in the Pony had wanted to touch me as soon as I’d walked in?” Frodo began to shiver violently then.  “I told them then I had had enough and that I wished to go up to my room.  The man holding me would not let me go and he only laughed when I struggled.  I met Butterbur’s eyes, and he could see that I needed help, but he did nothing.”

A flash of rage went through Strider’s heart.   He could see that Frodo told no falsehoods.

Frodo continued. “They threw me on the table then and pawed at me, feeling under my clothes.  Then one of them – a horrid fat man with a wart on his nose – said that he wanted to see if hobbits were as big as men, if you know what I speak of.” Frodo had flushed bright red.  “I started to struggle in earnest, yelling. Butterbur weakly told them to leave me alone, but did nothing when they did not.  I managed to kick one of them in the stomach, and then someone, I’m not sure who, hit me across the face.

“I felt my breeches ripped down, and I felt sticky ale and wood splinters dig into my backside.” Frodo glared at the Ranger.  “Why are Men so wretched? Hobbits would never do this to one another.  Why now am I the one being treated like a criminal? Is it because it’s easier?”   

“You do not need to tell me more,” Strider said, swallowing the ball of rage in his throat.  He stood, looming over Frodo.  “You are free to go home as far as I am concerned.”

Frodo looked up at him in surprise.  “Truly?”

“Those men will not bother you further.” Strider would find out from Butterbur who the men were, and they would all pay.  He would not kill them, but they would never again bully a hobbit.  As for the lawman, who was insisting Frodo be brought back, he already had a plan.  “I am sorry that your first encounter with Men was so cruel. There are many men of good and gentle heart, and I do hope someday you will meet some.”

Frodo stood, holding out Strider’s cloak to him. “Thank you for letting me go. My cousin is very dear to me, and he is sick.”

“Go now, Frodo.”

Strider watched as the hobbit quickly made his way back down the path, occasionally casting fearful looks over his shoulder.  When he disappeared into the darkness, Strider put his cloak back on and strode purposefully toward Bree.

***

The lawman blanched as he read the official notice Strider handed him.  “Dead?”

“The halfling perished on his way home from Bree.”  Strider shook his head.  “A terrible pity.”

“He was not old,” the lawman said. He looked surprisingly disturbed for one who was so determined to cause Frodo misery.

“His cousin informed me that he was shot by a hunter in the woods near the border of the Shire.  The men, who were only hunting for deer, feel terrible. They did not realize they were so close to the Shire.”

“Well…” The lawman turned away. “Thank you kindly for your efforts anyway.”

Strider hid his smile until he left the lawman’s cottage.

END  


  


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